Drifting
by Elizabeth Cords
Summary: 5yrs post COR. Fay knows a lot about a certain disappeared ex-con. Fay, wanted herself, has a very different reason for tracking him down & she's willing to chance breaking cover to meet him. She wants her husband back. Not your typical Riddick romance...
1. Chapter 1

**title: **Drifting  
**pairing:** Riddick / OFC (Fay Hawthorne- she's mine)  
**fandom:**PB/TCOR (post TCOR - by 5 years at least)  
**rating: **R - for language, may go NC-17 later  
**disclaimer::** Don't own Riddick, or the universe he inhabits, no money made, ect.  
**summary:** Fay knows a lot about a certain disappeared ex-con, who's on the run again, 5 years post TCOR. He ditched out on the Necros, who want him back, even though he basically ran them aground- on purpose.  
Hell, everyone wants their paws on Riddick, for one reason or another. Fay, a wanted woman herself, just has a very different reason for tracking him down. And she's willing to chance breaking cover to meet him.**  
**

**Author's Note:**_This is based on a dream I had (aren't all my fictions?) But it didn't initially involve Riddick. It was the idea of "drifting" - seeing people existing out of sync with time/space. I've been reading a lot of "Fey" YA (young adult lit) lately, and was intrigued by the idea of "fairy sight." People used to blame fairies for stealing things, and people. And there's a prevalent theme that you can only see them when they want you to. Somehow the two ideas came together, and then I realized that R. is such an escape artist, it kind of made sense that his 'ghosting' was a bit too convenient for reality. _  
**Author's Note 2:** this is intended as a sci-fi story, the 'fairy' reference ends with the 'sight'  
I think we all know Riddy is no fairy.

* * *

He'd been sitting in the dark corner of the bar for an hour. I knew it was him, call it instinct. Cassie's premonitions were never wrong. But she'd only said he'd be here, I'd be here. We'd meet.

This day, this time, this planet, this bar. Everything beyond that was a blur of chance and shifting timelines. Prophecy is like that. One reason Elementals always use 'calculations.' And Cassie was only human. Like me.

I was dressed for travel, simple robes that fit everything from the deserts of Helion to the cooler climates of Aquilas. Dusty sand colors, worker's colors, trader's colors, meant to blend into the background, sooth so the eye passes right over the wearer. Something that the Necro patrol would ignore, those militant brain-dead fuckers that wandered the sector in packs, like military Hare Krishnas of old, still stubbornly looking for their lost messiah. Or lord marshal. Whatever.

Three of them, stomping around in an irritating parody of authority & control. No one paid them much mind, beyond the eye rolling. They weren't allowed to carry weapons planetside, concession from the Company truce lest they all be genocidally wiped out for their war crimes. They were tolerated as were any free galactic citizens, but barely

Still, I'd watched him lean back into the shadows of his booth just slightly, darken and ghost as they entered. Drift, actually. Not that even he would understand the word. But he was invisible, by instinct alone. I bit my lip and tried to stare through him, ignore the brief noisy march of the slag zombies. They wouldn't see him, no one but I could. The trio left the bar with the same determined ignorance they'd entered with. But it was a few minutes before my man's hand reappeared on the table to reclaim his drink.

To say he'd changed from the Necro-war days was an understatement. His hair was dreaded, black, loosely tangled below his broad shoulders, but tied back in a Reggata spiral knot in the back. I highly doubted he had found religion in the last 5 years, but the affectation served as a neat disguise, as did the thin line, close cropped beard. He'd ditched the goggles for laser-line sunglasses, probably permanently set to dark, despite the deep shadows of this run down establishment. He was dressed in a loose Afri-Kaiyan long-sleeve tunic, and he wore the broken silver shackles of the Reggata faithful. Irony, in his case, I'm sure - _we break free of oppression - the ties that bind, you can't hold us down - enslave our minds. _That's about all I knew of the gibberish refrain Rastaitilians sang to their Saint Marley.

I shouldn't have been so smug. It almost cost me. I was too busy trying to fit the vid-pictures and slam photos to the dark shadow man, I didn't notice the Ranger patrol. What they were doing on Ageon, in Drake's Rift, well... fuck, I knew. They were looking for me. Which meant my cover had been blown after all at the spaceport. I kinda figured it had. I didn't want to come to the Kaz-Kaiyan system, too close to the Helion System, central traffic, civilization. Sigma System territory, where the Company made their home. Fuckers used the Necro Wars to expand into this sector, but I'd already ghosted by then. Hid out in the Aguaran asteroids, rough as it was, but fear of your life will do that. The worst most people expect in a corporate buyout is getting fired... Cassie, me, Rococo, Pheron, Jacks - we would probably have been dissected.

No... not true. That would have been the threat if we didn't cooperate. For me, that was finding Drifters... and I knew The Company wasn't interested in finding lost souls. Corporate espionage, assassins, who knew what else? "Practical applications" for the drifters. We'd all split as soon as Cassie found out. Prime Sense Inc... our 10 years of research... gone. Just like Echo. Gone. Drifted and didn't come back. Maybe they had him, maybe they didn't. It hurt to think about.

I quashed the thought, willed myself to relax, slide back into the shadows myself, not attract attention. My drink was empty, but I forced my hand to stay casually encircling it. Wanted to pull my headscarf lower, check that the cy-chip port behind my left eye wasn't visible, catching light. I wore dark eye make-up, extravagant contours of eyeshadow to make the black flex-metal blend in, and I'd permed my dark red hair, so the auburn curls further shadowed my face. But I hadn't gone as far as Jacks or Cassie, going under the knife to fool the facial recon scanners the law (and corporate cops) used to ferret out wanted persons. I didn't have the creds for that, and couldn't trade on my gift like the other PSI talent.

The shadow and thunk of glasses hitting the table made me jump, but I was too scared to look up. Afraid I'd see the quartet of armed Rangers ready to tacitly lead me out to the military transport 'as quietly and civilly as possible.' It had happened before, with Echo and me, the time he drifted to distract them... I was caught like a rabbit in groundshine...

"Bartender told me you were drinkin' White Russians. Milk's a bit expensive in this quadrant, don't you think?" He sat down next to me and draped a massive arm around my rigid frame, pushing me over bodily. "I saw you watching me," he rumbled, his dreads brushing my cheek. "dunno what you want, but it looks like we both got a habit of attracting a following, and you didn't blow my cover, I won't blow yours." He sat back, but that arm stayed in place stroking my shoulder absently. The silver chain links clinked as his fingers massaged my upper arm, and somehow that disjointed music calmed me.

He shoved the cloudry drink closer to me, and smiled thinly. I could smell the heavy spiced rum of his glass, a Reggata disciple would drink nothing else. From this angle, I could see the subtle shift in the reflection of his sunglasses as he tracked the Rangers progress through the bar. They were as bored and mindless as the Necros had been, but the company logo patches on their arms scared me so much more than the stun tasers they were allowed to carry as military police. I wanted them gone. I was fighting down a panic attack, trying not to hyperventilate.

"Drink your milk, kitten. Puffin' up is just gonna attract attention." His voice was deep, calm but assertive. He was nosing my ear again, taking advantage of my inability to blow cover and push him off. It irked me, and he chuckled when he saw my eyes narrow and flick in his direction.

"Watch it buster, or I'll blow your cover to them and escape in the ensuing melee." I elbowed him in the rib to drive home the point. He snorted, fixed that mirrored gaze on me, assessing.

"Oh I know who you are Mr. Burton. That is the alias you're using these days, no? Taken from your middle name, I believe?"

"Bullshit." His voice was cold, the arm drew back.

"I know that, and also that you have a rather sordid past with the Rangers as well. That The Company would probably love to get their hands on you as much as those filthy deadite fanatics would." He smiled thinly, cocking his head a little, an eyebrow raised.

"Then you have me at a disadvantage, don't you kitten? And if you know me as well as you think, you know I don't let that stand for long." Such a smooth threat, delivered with that full-lipped smile, ice snicked down my spine. He was radiating such a subtle menace. Dammit, this was not how it was supposed to go.

"Don't call me kitten. It's Fay. Fay Hawthorne." I held his mirrored gaze a second, defiantly, knowing this was not a man to show fear to. Then I picked up my drink, took a long swig. He just watched me. I smiled. "Is our company gone?" He ignored the question.

"What color are your eyes, really?" I deflated a bit, always overly conscientious of the natural pale blue. It _was _natural - in my right eye. And blue was a recessive genetic trait, not many people had it. Not that simple surgery or holo-lenses couldn't give it to you in an hour, but the plain grayed-out aqua didn't have the synthetic sparkle that opticians traded on. The implant in my left eye put in by PSI was to help track and record my optic impulses, and hopefully sort the magic of my sight into science.

That eye had been brown, the plain to my fairy eye. It had been a simple adjustment to holo-project that one blue as well, so that for the first time in my life, they matched. That had taken more getting used to than the implant cybernetic marker - a legal requirement that told ... whomever... that I'd been 'enhanced.'

PSI wasn't government, just privately held research collective, and we were always legally by the book, and I hadn't minded, really. Echo had been more put out that my eyes suddenly matched more than anything. "It makes you look normal, " he'd complained. He liked my fairy eye, and not just because it could track him.

"The blue is real, in my natural eye." I watched his brows knit briefly, as he mulled that over. He picked up his drink reflexively, brought it to his mouth and winced.

"I hate this shit. Rum is no drink for a real man." He was still staring at me, and my reaction as he half-backwashed the mouthful and started cussing under his breath about sugar and fruity ass pirate drinks. I giggled in spite of myself. He'd had his disguise down before that. It was also a small admittance of trust that he didn't lie to me, claim to be other than who he was. I had given him my real name, and he knew it, could hang me with it, if he knew the right people.

"Our company has left, " he muttered after a minute, still staring at me. Or maybe not. Who could tell with those mirrored lenses? I took the opportunity to scoot away from him to the far edge of the booth, dragging my drink across the table as a protective shield.

"You'll want to know why I'm here, why I was watching you, how I know who you are, and what I want." I swirled the glass absently, staring at the melting ice.

"Pretty much."

I paused, wondering if we should have this conversation here. He may not believe me, and if he didn't, he wouldn't help me, but it was better to know that now, I suppose. And he wouldn't over-react in public. I sighed.

"I know a lot about you because of who you are, what you did. On Helion." He grunted. I was trying to keep it general, not use words that attracted attention.

"Pretty much everyone knows about that." His tone was bored, dangerously so.

"Yes, well, I know how you did it." I spread my fingers on the table, refusing to look up and meet that burning gaze, the frown I knew was there.

"I did it," he said softly, "with a knife." He paused. "Same as I do most of my work." I dug my nails into the wooden surface of the table, trying to keep my hands from shaking.

"Yes. But we all know what he was - how he could move... and you were more than lucky." I was speaking slowly, trying to be reverent, not insult the mass murder...

"Don't start with that predestined shit... or the zombie religious crap." I smirked to myself.

"I won't even attribute it to your Furyan genetics, Rid..." I caught myself, but he'd pulled me back to him lighting quick, face inches away.

"_Don't_ say that name. Or that fucking 'f' word." He snarled quietly in the back of his throat, and released me. I gulped.

"Sorry. I... it wasn't... you..." I paused, collected myself. "You're quick, deadly, but even that... you _Drifted_."

"I what?" He'd caught the emphasis on the word.

"You drifted. That's what we call it. You disappear, ghost, go ninja... but beyond this plane of reality. Scientifically, it's about a half-nanosecond out of sync with time... you go 'poof' - you can see us, but we can't see you. Well, almost no one can... and that included the Lord Marshall."

"Huh... " he sat back, clearly amused. I was now about to be dismissed as a crazy person. That's ok, I was used to it. That's why PSI had never gotten funding, we were looked at as pseudo-science. I looked back down at my drink, waiting for the taunts.

"So... all the times I've escaped, had nothing to do with talent, training and a will to survive? Not my fucking Furyan animal side or some stupid mystic alpha power? I just go 'poof,' huh? A real fucking ghost?"

"It's inborn, but a very human thing. It's a talent, but instinctual until recognized... like any other skill you're born with. The odds of having it manifest are incalculably low... it happens to maybe one person per planet every generation or so... maybe more... it can spontaneously occur... and that's why people just sometimes... disappear."

"No," his tone was still amused. "People 'disappear' because they're killed. Usually by other people. But sometimes by their own stupidity - they walk off a cliff or get eaten by poison lizards, or spontaneously combust. They don't go 'poof.'" He was talking down to me, like explaining that boogiemen under the bed weren't real. Patronizing.

I shook my head. "No. It's true. I've studied it. That's why The Company wants me... and my friends. We worked for a scientific collective... studying paranormal talent. Well... I was one of the 'talents' - because I can see people while they're unfazed with reality. When they drift. "

"What? With your cybernetic eye?" I sighed, met his gaze.

"No. With my natural one. My fairy eye. It's my anomaly, but it's a very old talent - that's where I get my name. Fay - from F-E-Y - the Folk. Fairies. Old Terran myths... mostly about mystic creatures pretending to be human - using glamours and... nevermind.  
I can _see_ Drifters. I can track them. That's why they want me back. So they can identify more people like you, Riddick, make them killers and trackers and soldiers like you." I realized my mistake too late, my anger and indignation pushed the words out -his name out- before I could catch myself again. He grabbed my arm and hauled me out of the booth. I didn't fight him. Just let him half-carry me out the door into the evening street.

"Always the crazy ones," I heard him mutter as he death-marched me down the alley behind the bar. I was done, I knew it. Failed. Dead. Cassandra finally living up to her name. I didn't bother to cry out or fight him, it wasn't worth it. At least it would be quick. Well, I hoped it was, better than being tortured by Company doctors, forced to betray my fellows.


	2. Chapter 2

I was surprised when he didn't halt in the darkness, but shoved me onto another busy street. Down another alley, around a corner, into an even seedier neighborhood than the one we'd just left. So, what... he didn't want the body dumped someplace too noticeable?

I began to balk after another 5 minutes of walking, his pace, his grip, hurt, and my panicked adrenaline rush had worn off. Realizing he wasn't holding me with anything but his arm, I stopped. Stumbled, really, since he was half-carrying me. He growled at me and yanked me up again.

"Keep your mouth shut till we're inside, obviously can't trust you in the open." He shoved me into a run-down rent house, up a flight of stairs. Keyed a door at the end of the hall and all but threw me on the bed. He kicked the door closed and turned to face me, arms crossed.

"You talk some shit lady, but you're not lyin', I could tell if you were," he eyed me menacingly then deliberately turned his back, stalking off to the far side of the room, taking off the bracelets, shucking the tunic. "Don't think_ I_ believe you, but you believe yourself, which is more truth than I'm used to from strangers." He was wearing a black tank top under the tunic, and this at least, matched the description of most photos I'd seen in his file. I watched him palm a whiskey bottle from the end table where he dumped his clothes and he pulled the only chair across the room, thunked it down in front of me. I reflexively pulled my knees up in front of me as he sat down backwards on it, swigging from the bottle. Another apprising look, and he motioned with his hand.

"All right, out with it. You didn't track me down to feed me this fairy bullshit for my own good. Everyone wants something. Spill it."

I blinked. He wasn't going to kill me? I bit my lip, reassessing my state mentally. What to say?

"Oh, now you're at a loss for words huh?" He took another shot from the bottle. "What, you need a bodyguard from the Company death squads? Not my gig."

"No," I shook my head, fingers going to my headdress. It was hot in here, especially under his stare. I pulled it off, nervously twisting the fabric in my hands. "I want... I need to find Echo. He's a drifter too, one of the team. He may or may not have been grabbed by the Rangers that ambushed us when we got out a few years ago. "

Riddick contemplated me. Clacked the bottle against the back of the chair. "Thought you could see Drifters," he said after a moment.

"Normally I can... but something's wrong. I think he's stuck... somewhere between. I can't reach him."

"He's not dead?"

I shook my head. "No, can't be. I could see the body, this side or the other... And Cassandra would stop having half-formed future glances of him..."

"What?" He scowled. Great, back in batshit crazy -lady territory again.

"Cassandra... sees the future, possible futures..."

"Fuckin' Elemental" he muttered, face going dark. "I don't want anything to do with those fuckers. Mess up my life." He pushed back from the chair, getting up.

"NO!" I reached out, grabbed his arm. "She's not one of them. She's human. A psychic. Another talent at PSI... she's how I found where you were." He grunted, looked at my slim white fingers on his arm, and slowly sat back down. I drew my hand back, sighing. He was so wary, defensive. It put me on edge.

"She.. I... we can't find him. If he was dead, I think I'd know. But something is blocking him, I think. "

"Lot of 'maybes' you're dealing with." I sighed, nodding. "And I fit in this how?"

"You... can cross over, see if he's trapped. Maybe bring him back."

Riddick snorted and got up again.

"Even if I believed you, which I don't, you don't know where he is, or how to get him back. If I'm one of these 'drifters' I sure as hell can't control it, much less tell if I'm looking at another one."

"I have a picture...and I can help you with..."

He made a scoffing noise. "And it sounds like you got fuckin' Rangers on your back, along with whatever else the Company decides you're worth. Not exactly good odds. "

I blushed, ducked my head behind my knees.

"Wanna tell me why I shouldn't just turn you in for whatever bounty they got posted on you?"

I laughed thinly. "Beyond your own sense of honor? Your hatred of mercs and pretty much all authority figures?" He snorted. I continued. "Cuz your bounty is still triple what mine is? I'm only worth creds to the Company, and only to their special forces. PSI was never a public operation, and I'm technically not wanted for any crime other than desertion of a contract position. You on the other hand, stick your head up and..." He shook his head, the dark braids swaying.

"Please," I hated to beg. "You were with the Rangers, weren't you? You know how they work, how the Company works. I can pay you... I don't have much, but we can work something out." He glanced halfway back, still shaking his head.

"If you know my past with those shitheads, you know they fucked me over good - for doin' the right thing." He growled and pulled a knife out of his belt, held it up to the light. I shuddered. I had heard he'd been framed for a massacre, the only man in his unit to walk off the planet alive. One more example of his drifting, as far as I had theorized. Hard to be killed when no one can see you.

"Proves my point though, one more instance you should have been dead, but no one could see you." I said it quietly, knowing he could hear me just fine. I shut my eyes, laid my cheek on my knees. I didn't know what to do now. Cassie hadn't prepared me for his recalcitrance. Not that I expected enthusiasm.

He put down the knife carefully, thoughtfully. I could see his jaw working again. He pulled off his glasses' set them next to his knife. He squinted down at them. "Lights - dim." Like this place wasn't dark and scary enough already...

Riddick crossed the room, double checking the lock on the door, then reseated himself in the chair. I got the full effect of the silver shined stare. That icy feeling down my spine was back and I shuttered again under his scrutiny. He picked up the bottle and took a long drink. His silence was making me nervous, I fidgeted on the bed.

"You got a plan for any of this sister?" He said finally, putting down the whiskey and messing with his hair. "A ship? Maps? Recon? Com access?Weapons?" I reddened, watching him pull his dreadlocks back into a tight ponytail as he eyed me hard.

"I... what? No... I..." Nothing. I had nothing.

"Figures. Fuckin' civies. Friggin' brainiacs got no survival skills."

"Hey! I'm _here_ aren't I? Survived on my own for three years! I've dodged patrols before!"

"Luck. And their stupidity. Highly doubt you could handle a serious run in the big black."

Now _I _snorted. "Well, duh. Why else would I come after you? I need help from a professional, and you're my best bet."

"Flattery is wasted in my world, cat. You put up or shut up. Or someone shuts you up. " I threw my hands in the air.

"Fine. I give up then! What do you want me to say? I've offered you money, information, admitted I don't know how to handle this. But I'm not going to convince you, am I? Fuck it. I'm leaving." I stood up, but he pushed me back on the bed, towering over me. "Ow! Quit it!" He shook his head.

"Little late for you to leave, cat. You're a loose end I don't need trawlin' the streets. Even if I wanted you dead, and sweetie, it's pretty messy out there after dark, you'd probably die with my name on your lips, bring me hella trouble. You're stayin' here tonight, while I think on your offer." I squeaked a protest, but he fixed me with a hard eyed stare and I relented. He sat down on the edge of the bed and kicked off his boots. "Not letting you out of my sight till I decide, and since I'm payin' for this dump, I sure as hell ain't sleepin' on the floor."

He yanked down the blankets from under me and I scooted as close to the wall as I could manage. He lay down on his side and gave me another heart-freezing look. "Don't try any shit, sweetheart, I'm a light sleeper, and I tend to cut first, ask questions later." I squeezed myself further against the wall, till there wasn't room for a microliter of air between me and the wood.

"Lights-out." He grunted and the silver eyes of death closed a second later.

_What the hell had I gotten myself into?_


	3. Chapter 3

Hunched against the wall, terrified and mentally exhausted, I have no idea when I drifted off. It was hot and dark and the air smelled of a revolting mix of alcohol, decay and unfamiliar man. I hadn't shared a bed with anyone since Echo. Never expected to have to share it with anyone else ever again. If I could just pretend it was him... but even the breathing was different. I tried, shut my eyes, imagined his voice. But three years, even that was fading. I felt tears sting my eyes.

Princess. I was his fairy princess. Joke at my name, my sight. We'd all given up our names at PSI, a psychologist's suggestion, since we were, more or less, studying ourselves. A small piece of detachment. I'd been born Caitlin Hawthorne. Family name, Irish. My genetics could be traced back to Terra, if anyone cared to check. Which PSI did... checked us all, didn't want data contaminated by mutated strands of DNA from evolutionary deviations that happened when humans colonized deep space. Things that led to racial differentials like Elementals... and Furyans.

Cassandra, Odessa, had been Greek, dark hair, Roman nose and all. Echo, Elliott, had been English, thin, pale, ganglely. Jacks, Yoon, was Korea-Chino. Sixteen, bouncy and hyperactive when I'd joined up, she was a telekinetic, useful in differentiation tests of what Echo could touch, could move when he was unfazed. The others: Rococo and Pheron,had been there before I was recruited, deep in their own research, seldom saw them, except in evening socialization and collective meetings. There were others, and other scientists (versus those of us dubbed 'talent') but that was my core group. And those I stayed in touch with when things went to hell.

I don't even know when Echo and my relationship changed, went from coworkers to friends, friends to lovers. Really, he should have, could have, had more fun with any other girl in the world - the universe... He could play ghost lover to them, but he couldn't hide from me. Maybe that was it, the physical inability to ghost on me, forced him to let the emotional boundaries down. But then, that was psychologically over-analyzing it, I suppose. What guy doesn't get off on a woman watching his every move? And if he was feeling terribly cheeky - because, yes, he could be an ass sometimes - he'd do things to amuse me - like take off his clothes while unfazed, in the middle of testing, and dance around, just to force me to keep a straight face. Or goose one of the other observers and blame it on Jacks. He could be a right bastard if he wanted.

The jokes always had to be pantomime, physical like that, because I couldn't hear him... no one could. One of those oddities we were studying. Sound traveled back - because that we had established, he was behind, not before us. Were you to pull it back to Terran myths - ghosts, fey, whatever - it explained why seances were always physical, movement based: objects flying across the room, phantom touches, knocking on the walls, unexplained lights, ghost writing... Magic: things disappearing, people levitating, animals behaving unnaturally... a lot could be explained by a Drifter.

My Drifter, my phantom. At least now when I was specific in recalling the memories, I could conjure up his face. The voice was harder, but so much of our work was limited with auditory. So Echo was often quiet, and that's probably why I was so attuned to his breathing. Used to the pattern that lulled me to sleep. Or when we'd play the blindfold game in bed. His favorite. The one time he could escape my scrutiny, sneak about. Let him play my phantom lover.

I used my eyes all day, they were my work. If it wasn't studying him, it was downloading and analyzing vids of my 'sight' versus what cameras recorded in the room. Pheron, another psy talent, a mindreader of sorts, couldn't track Echo unfazed. He couldn't really read your thoughts, really never was clear what he did, other than he could sense everyone and everything except a Drifter. It seemed to upset Pheron, but he was cold and terse in his better moods. He could easily distinguish between Jacks and Echo's simulated 'attacks' - if only that he could dodge anything Jacks threw at him.

Echo, being the jerk he was, would steal the good doctor's favorite pen, just to irritate the hell out of the man. Swipe it and put it in his back pocket or under his data recorder. Always playing the imp. Never fessed up to that and if I wasn't watching, recording, he didn't get caught.

So my eyes were always tired at the end of the day. Optic strain. Nothing a cold cloth over my eyes and a quick nap couldn't cure, but that's how that blindfold game started.

Between work and communal meals, me stripped to skivies on the bed, resting while Echo showered. Darkness was my refuge, waiting for the painkillers to take the edge off. No idea how long he'd been standing there, staring at me, before his fingers brushed my leg. Just a gentle touch, affectionate and light. I smiled but ignored it, expected it was in passing. He was quiet, paused, must have been watching me again. Fingers over my other hip, warm and teasing, but still gone in a second.

Echo being cheeky. I pursed my lips, brought my hand up to pull the cloth from my face. He didn't speak, just gently grabbed my wrist, stopping me. He kissed the inside of my wrist and set it back on the bed. I lay still, intrigued.

He moved back to my legs, soft brushes of fingertips on the inside of my thighs, teasing, running down to my knees. Then he picked up my left foot, kissed the instep, began kneading the arch, warming the underside. It shot liquid heat up my legs to my core. Echo was a smarmy bastard, knew the nervous connections between feet and groin. I squirmed, made a noise, and he dropped my foot.

He didn't touch me again till I quieted and that time moved around the bed to my right side, barely touching my hair, blowing on my neck. I moved with the pressure of his fingers, just enough to let his lips brush the spot behind my ear. I bit down on my lip to keep from whimpering, but shivered as he ghosted the outside of my arm, teasing it away from my chest by degrees. He just touched the base of my breasts, the underside, through the fabric of my cami. Warm breath and brushes of lips, the tip of his nose... slow torture.

The game evolved from there. He bought a velvet blindfold, would leave it on the bed on nights he wanted to play. He added other things to our game, feathers, animal fur, iced metal chains - that was still my favorite. He'd tease me for an hour or hours... I never knew, lost in tactile sensations, time had no meaning beyond his touch and breath. I could imagine anything I wanted in that darkness, while my darling amorous incubus teased his way over my skin.

He had such patience in the bedroom, something he never displayed in the rest of our life. I don't know where that control came from. Even after we were married, he was more focused in the bedroom than out of it. Maybe it was because he knew the outcome of his bedroom experiments. He could pretty much be assured of successful conclusion. So much of our lives was unknown but he was a master of his craft in our bedroom, working me into a heated, sweaty, quivery mess that needed him to release me in that human-animal way, just as a man.

That was as normal as it got for us. Kinky bedroom games. Our time alone. Our daytime lives were surreal experiments. Isolated in research and belief in the science of myth - or vice versa. It was a strange way to live. But even now, three years apart, I could sometimes feel his ghostly touches when I shut my eyes. And with him gone, between, I could never tell if it was him trying to communicate or my imagination running wild.

Floating in that heated darkness of not-sleep, always wishing and praying for a sign. Just a hand on my cheek, lips on my forehead, breath in my ear. Soft pressure by my hand on the pillow, a flutter of muscle contraction in my chest. Throwing my thoughts into the void, begging for a brush of his mind.

Sometimes you know it's a dream... something you want to control. At least control your own floating through the semi-conscious realm. And I could feel his ghost now, if only in memory... all the connection we had. Or was he there? Trying. I flung emotions out at the void, like a net, casting, trying to catch him with my love, my faith. Come back to me, show me where you are.

I squrimed on the bed, sweating now, but I was sure he was there, just out of reach. I felt his lips, soft breath on mine. The way he kissed me sideways, making a cross of our lips. His fingers in my hair, just the tips, stroking just where the skull sloped inward, sliding down to find pressure points in my neck. His other arm around me as he pulled me close, kissed me again.

_Princess... my fairy Fay... _Words in my head, his lilting old-world English. Stroking my back now, blowing softly on my ear. Humming some tuneless folk song he teased me with while he bed-danced me out of my clothes. Touches becoming dark and insistent, I could feel his heartbeat against mine. And I gave over to the ghosts, let him take my body wherever he was... I was burning for him, wanted him in me, with me...

"Echo" - I heard myself say his name aloud, as I felt the crest of an orgasm hit me. I reached for him, as he slid away with my unconscious dreams. Grabbed in the darkness as tears stung my eyes, gasping and yanking against the fading warmth of his shadow.

The body, the shirt, the smell... it wasn't his. Reality hit me hard as I recoiled against the wall, sobbing.

Riddick hadn't moved. Was just staring at me. He was facing me, but one arm was thrown over his head, the other lying prone against his body. His eyes shone softly in the darkness, narrowed and assessing.

"Never seen a spontaneous orgasm like that." He said finally. "Heard it happens to nuns and shit, when you don't take care of your needs. " He snorted. "Don't think you meant that as a come on, did you?"  
I was horrified. Embarrassed. I knew what I must have looked like, panting and squirming on the bed like that. Knew from his file he had heightened senses of smell and sight would have seen my unintentional show as if the lights were on.

"I'm sorry." I murmured softly. "I didn't mean to... touch you."

"Oh sweetheart, you can touch me, but only if you mean it." His voice was thick and heavy with sarcasm even I could recognize. "And you get the name right."

"I... Echo is my husband. I didn't... I'm married."

He just looked at me.

"I... we didn't talk payment, but if you want..."

That snort again.

"Fuck no, not like that. There are three working girls in the building I got open invitation to share nights off with. I never paid in my life. Never taken any unwilling female in my bed."

He vaulted off the mattress then. "Lights 50%."

He was glaring at me as he palmed his shades off the table. "Take a shower." It was a command. "You got 10 minutes, then we're leaving." He slammed the door on his way out.


	4. Chapter 4

It was quiet on this side of the spaceport, dark and deserted. I'd walked two steps behind him, the way any Reggata woman would. I don't even know if he noticed my attempt to enhance his disguise, prove I wasn't some idiot after my repeated 'civie' mistakes. Either he was still angry, or naturally oozed menace, I couldn't tell, and I was too busy laboring to keep up with his long strides.

Whether by his attitude or just luck, we didn't cross paths with anyone, though I balked as we approached the shipyard. I didn't want to be near those facial scanners again.

I guess I'd never given thought to the back way in where cargo ships were docked. I figured Riddick had a ship, but, I didn't know anything about how things worked, how pilots, private ships... non-commercial traffic came and went. I could have avoided giving myself away if I'd thought about it. Guess I was sheltered. Even after three years on the run.

He stopped just outside the deserted service check-in entrance. Eyed me hard. The silence was broken only by my harsh breathing and the distant fire of engines. He ignored my embarrassingly out-of-shape lungs and scanned the fenceline. When I quieted, he spoke.

"How much you got?"

I knew this was coming. The price. This wasn't goodwill after all. But the timing confused me. Did he need money for fuel? Bribes to get us past security, customs? Or was this his cut, now? I wasn't completely clueless when it came to the black market... I'd made it this far. Three years of living off the grid had taught me something. My hesitation earned me a low growl.

"'S for the ship. Got a guy in impound owes me. First dibs on anything set for auction, or near to it." He grinned, but there was no warmth to it. "Figured we need a boat that'll get us to Sigma Prime... eventually. " I nodded, bit my lip. I got that this wasn't going to be a straight shot. You didn't just show up on the Company's doorstep and knock. Intersystem travel wasn't cheap. Still, I hadn't expected to have to front for a whole ship. I sighed.

"There's what I got now and what I can get on Vega." I said softly, not looking at him. He snorted.

"Fuckin' casino moon? Not likely." He crossed his arms, scowling. I shook my head.

"Not what you think. We meet my friend... she can get me whatever I need, you need... UD, cash." He raised an eyebrow.

"What's she? Fuckin' madam at Krystal Katz?" It was Deh Vega's most notorious whorehouse in Last Vegas. That even I caught the reference said something. I blushed, fiddled with my hair.

"No... she... I'd rather explain it later. I have 400,000 I can lay hands on right now... but if she knows it's for this, you can just name your price."

He was quiet. I think I actually shocked him. Like I said, I'm not stupid. I don't walk around advertising money. And with that much, I'd made it last. Lived close to the bone. Once you have to drop everything you own and run, you learn what's really essential. How to replace it on the fly. Possessions don't matter as much as people... as life. Your own especially.

Even what I told him wasn't the whole of it. For all I knew he'd cut and run. I'd made that mistake once when I first ran...

I could feel his gaze on me, reassessing. Or maybe just re-prioritizing what he needed, now that I'd mentioned the sidetrip. Casandra wasn't the only one who knew what I was up to... was always up to - trying to find Echo. Jacks expected a check-in within a week. If I wasn't on her doorstep at the end of a solar week, she would come looking for me. Not that I'd seen her in two years. We kept communication amongst the old group to a minimum. But she and Cassie were my money line. And meeting Jacks would go a long way to establish my credibility... and I wasn't just talking about UD either.

"I'm gonna need it all," he finally muttered, turning back to the shuttered check-in. He walked around to the fence by the side, and pounded quick, short, three times. A dog started barking immediately, something big and mean, by the sound of it. Heard cursing in the distance.

Dog shut up after a minute, still snarling audibly though. More mumbling on the other side of the fence. Irritated. Probably woke whoever it was.

"Whatever it is, we're closed," the voice was short, grumpy and bored. "Come back in the morning. You forget your pass-card, not my problem. Port regulations clearly state all transport pilots must log all comings and goings at the gate. Don't take bribes and don't care if you know the boss. If you had his number you'd have commed him by now. Fuck off and have a nice day."

Riddick ducked his head, hiding a grin at the rehearsed speech.

"Fuck off yourself, Casey. Open the damn door and tell 'the boss' Burton's here to collect."

"Oh! Hey 'B'. Why you always make me say the whole thing afore you say nothin? " The voice was suddenly warmer and a whole lot younger. Riddick beckoned and I followed him in as the fence rolled back. Kid was just barely a teenager, sleepy eyed and rumpled. Big black dog at his heels, who'd apparently calmed with his master. Riddick took a mock swipe at his head, the boy ducked it easily.

"You like sayin' the whole thing. Besides, the old man finds out you were sleepin' again he'll make you clean out the drive intakes on the livestock boats. Know how you love that."

"Fuckin' shit and feathers" Casey grumbled, making a face. "Swear the stock-hands just shovel it in there a'fore they land. Fuckers." He turned and loped toward the low building across the main road. Then he stopped, turned around. "You really leavin'?"

Riddick growled, grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him back toward the building, hauling him along. "What'd I tell you about gettin' curious? Askin' stupid questions?"

"Curiosity killed the cat, probably got a shiv in the back." Kid sing-songed back. Casey deflated a bit, shoved away from Riddick's arm, skuffin' his shoes. "I'll get dad."

I'd hung back, watching this. Weird to see Riddick so... tolerant, easy, after all the guarded umbrage. Despite all the saving the universe shit, he didn't seem the type to waste time on personal relationships or kindness. Much less some port-rat kid. Maybe I just felt snubbed. I didn't know. Riddick caught me looking as he turned back from the door.

"What?"

"Nothing," I said blandly.

"Exactly."

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The ship was an Interclass PAGO 9. Whatever that was. Nothing fancy, but as I wandered the deck (such as I was allowed) I got the impression that even my credits and Riddick's connections couldn't have paid for this completely. I had my suspicions that he'd put up some of his own money, but I also knew I wasn't likely to be handed the ownership papers this side of the Underverse.

It had two state rooms and a galley though, so I couldn't complain. Not that I would. Riddick spelled out the rules while "the boss" was running the account numbers I'd given him.

"Captain's rules - ancient code. Pretty simple. Rule 1: The captain is always right. Rule 2: If the captain is wrong, see rule 1. Objections can be lodged from inside the rear airlock. "

Good lord, he may as well have said he'd keelhaul me and make me walk the plank. His ship, his rules. I expected no less.

Riddick seemed to want to put as much space as possible between us and Ageon before first sunrise. One more indication that our ship acquisition wasn't exactly above the board. I didn't care. I'd only come to this planet to find him. We stopped at a space port about a day out to supply. I didn't need much, didn't have much money, and Deh Vega was only two days out. The only major purchase I made was a portable vid recorder. Riddick and I had 50 odd hours to kill together, and I figured I had a chance at offering a little proof to my story. It required his cooperation, but what else did he have to do? Program the autopilot and get us into the main space lanes. It was a straight shot. Tourist destination. I wasn't expecting trouble. Yet.

I found him in the galley, at the table, sharpening knives. I sat across from him, watching the process silently for about 10 ticks before he broached the subject.

"It's not that exciting. And I'm not giving lessons."

"On the contrary, it's a useful skill and one I don't possess."

"Swapping skill sets, are we?" His tone was guarded. He put down the whetting stone, pointed the blade at the cam next to my hand. I picked it up.

"Want to record you. Show you what I see, what others don't. " I flicked open the playback window, showed what I'd recorded walking down the hall.

"This is that drifting thing. Where I disappear? Don't think I can do it on command. Not a trained monkey. " He shoved it back across the table at me. I picked it up. Sighed. "Don't know that I wanna be."

"Mr. Riddick, I need you to believe me, understand why this matters. If you don't trust me, I don't understand why you're even here..."

"Trust ain't one of my strong suits." He went back to examining the edge on his knife.

"Well, when I tell you about Jacks.. you're not going to believe that either."

"Don't matter what I believe. Either she has your money or she don't." I scoffed, pushed away from the table. Paced a bit.

"It's not that simple. Depending on what you need, it may take a day for her to raise it." He paused again, eyed me from behind his sunglasses. Even in the low light, even with him in complete control of the room luminary levels, he hid behind those damn shades.

"Thought you said this wasn't a gamble." I snorted.

"It's not. But if I tell you she has a system, a fix... you're just going to freak out and think it's too dangerous, or some kind of trap." He made a dismissive noise, dropped his gaze.

"Try me."

"She's telekinetic. Put her in a craps game, a roulette wheel... anything with a moving part in the game of chance... she can manipulate it." He didn't laugh, but his hands stopped.

"You're right, I don't believe you. 'Sides, every casino on that rock vids everything. You push the odds, your ass is banned. If they don't deal with you old-school Vegas style." I smiled.

"Ah, but she's very, very careful. Doesn't win more than she should... much. And she's a high-roller. Dumps a lot at the card tables. Down one day, up the next. She just happens to be up 2 times out of 3. Then she moves on. With Cassandra backing her... it's a fairly safe system."

"That's your little mind-reader, right?" His tone was tight.

"No, precog. I've worked with mind-readers, but... " I paused. "Nevermind. I'd rather just prove to you that this isn't some stupid fantasy. If you'd work with me a bit, I can probably film you phasing."

"Thought you said it wasn't something I could control." He cocked his head, dreads falling over one shoulder. His lips were pursed. I could sense he was curious though.

"Its not something you have conscious control of right now, because you've never tried." I walked back to the table, picked up the vid recorder. "You'd need to learn what your trigger is. It's like martial arts training, only backwards. It's taking an instinctive move and making it deliberate. Retrain the subconscious..." I couldn't think of a good example. Not without resorting to animal behaviorism. And I knew he hated being compared to animals.

"Jacks... Yoon is her real name," I shouldn't be telling him this... "She took the name Jacks because that's how she discovered her power - as a child. She was playing the game and she just... wished the ball would stay up in the air longer so she could beat her older sister and it did. Well, it didn't come down. It just kind of stayed suspended there and freaked them out. The girls thought they'd summoned a ghost... or a demon." Riddick did laugh at that. But how else would people describe it? Things don't move on their own, and they don't stop and just float there. Not any more than people disappeared into thin air.

"You're crazy, but you're consistent." He slid the knife into its sheath, shoved his tools aside. Sat back. "Alright. Make me disappear."


	5. Chapter 5

I laughed. Nerves. Didn't know where to start. My brain flipped into work mode, going scientific, analytical.

Riddick was not going to like that either. His history with psychologists - all prison shrinks, who were often more twisted than their patients - was... not good. I'd seen the vids. Read the reports. One did not manipulate Richard B. Riddick. He had a very cunning way of turning that back on you. And while I needed him to tap that vicious id reflex to realize his phasing ability, I also needed his cognition in play to control it. I fiddled with the recorder in my hands, realized he was still watching me, and sat down.

"You've done this. I've seen it. In the bar, on vids." He raised an eyebrow, jaw tightening. Subtle shift in his posture, I could sense his guard go up. I put the camera down, didn't meet his eyes. I needed him open, relaxed. I changed tack.

"I told you about Echo. But maybe his history, how he figured it out..." I smiled. "He grew up a lot like you: orphan, thief, alone on the streets. Britania 6, refugee from the EU Wars on Terra. Parents died not long after they hit resettlement in Elizabethia." This didn't matter to Riddick, the details of my husband's story, but it comforted me. "He had a way of slipping into shadows and people wouldn't notice him... Got recruited by a local mafia syndicate as a spy. Shadow-walking, he called it. He'd figured out that it wasn't just that he was unobtrusive... that people really couldn't see him when he... backed into the shadows. That was his trigger. And I think it's one you share."

I glanced up. His arms were crossed. He was still leaning back, his jaw working again. Contemplating, assessing. He hadn't contradicted me though.

"When I see you drift... you almost always physically step back. You seek the shadows and I think you have a mental shift then." I paused. Hard to find words that didn't make it appear I was evaluating him as a test subject. "You drop into battle mode, fight/flight." The chair squeaked as he moved forward. It was a warning, whip-quick mood change. Going predatory. I met his gaze now, held it. Couldn't show alarm in the face of his raised hackles.

"It's instinct" I continued, "and training. Sigma 6 Strike Force?"

"Three." He growled. "Sigma 3."

I'd fucked it up on purpose. Both so he'd confirm and to make him talk. Pull him out of that primal guarded state. Hated to use psychological tricks but this conversation, where I had to lead him... was mental thin ice. Snap him back by invoking his deeply ingrained military response. A whole other realm of conditioning, just as deadly, but more... calm. Alert, but cognitively engaged. Oh and brother, I was about to test that discipline.

"It's a game for you... playing ninja assassin. Watching people from the dark." His lips twitched into a half-smile. He wouldn't deny it. He didn't need or want to. To him it was a compliment. Even if it was a mostly private game. "Your arrogant superiority blinds you to your talent, Riddick." The smile was gone. "People really aren't that stupid. And you're not that good. " The glasses came off as he leaned across the table, those icy silver eyes in my face. I didn't budge.

"People aren't that stupid," I repeated. "You're just not there."

"You've been studying me." He grated out in that deep voice that sent reflexive shivers up my spine. He cocked his head a little, another animal mimicry, meant to intimidate. He tapped his fingers on the hilt of the sheathed knife on the table. Metal on metal. Tink. Tink. Tink. If I'd been scared of him killing me before...

"It was my job. " My tone was unwavering, which surprised even me. He wasn't the only one with training after all. Professional cool. A mask. But one I was experienced wearing. "The vids from PRS Q9/T79*. Prison data tapes of your escapes. Guild logs from mercs who chased you. Your military record.. I've studied them all. Your near-mythic vanishing act is repeated too much. Houdini got nothing on you."

"Who-what? " My snark had broken his hostile fixation.

"Houdini - ancient Terran escape artist. Magician." I tried not to smirk. "Very likely a drifter as well." He sat back, looking thoughtful. Still angry, but he'd couched it.

"You know all that shit about me is classified. What isn't Company records, isn't something the slams and guild just hand out to civies for perusal." I opened my mouth and shut it. I'd never thought about where the information came from.

"I just... when I saw the Necromonger vid... I asked Pheron for more research material. He just... gathered it and gave it to me. I didn't ask how... " Fuck. How did Pheron or whomever get it? We hadn't been bought out at that time... I put in a research request. I was tracking for drifters, it was the first sign of another living case... I was just so happy to have information... Riddick snorted across the table.

"Sorry, doc. 'S funny to see you backed into a corner. Didn't pre-think that one, didja?" He regarded me as I blushed.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to drop into scientific analysis..."

"And I don't mean to be a sociopath." I shook my head.

"You're not. You're not psychotic either. The arrogance against humanity is understandable given..."

"I'm not a fucking report. You're talking to _me_, drop the psycho-babble, doc."

"I'm not a doctor..."

"Then quick acting like one."

"Well stop being so defensive. I'm_ trying_ to explain," My temper was fraying. He flipped through emotional states like lightning. "I can't think how to do this. Every example from my research is pretty much trauma for you. Fight/flight response. The prison breaks, the riot you started on Aquila Major, fleeing Johns, even you walking away from the Wailing Wars battle on E6-30. " I crossed my arms and eyed him. "Don't care how good you are, you're a big dude. You're hard to miss in a crowd."

He laughed then, apparently finding my impudence cute. The tension was not completely gone but he was where I wanted him to be, mentally. I'd told him what I knew. He was still wary, but calmer.

"I don't know how you feel about hypnosis, well, I can imagine... But it's really a recall technique in this case. Try to put you in the moment right before you phase." I spread my hands on the table. "I'm not trying to manipulate you, but I need you to stay observant, detached. I don't know what would help that, a glass of water? Neck rub?" I was being facetious, trying to get him to laugh again.

"Yeah, sure." My gaze fixed on the kitchenette as I got up to get the water. He grabbed my hand. "Don't need a drink." I froze for a second, felt my ears redden. He didn't actually expect...? But I looked at him, he had that irritating half-grin on his face again.

"You want me to play along?" He pinned me with a half-lidded cat stare. I was the mouse under his paw and this was his favorite game. Control. He pulled on my wrist. I didn't move. "I can tell you about a time you don't know about. No records on the M6-117 incident, are there?" His tone was crooning, soft. I moved and he let go of my hand, brushed back his dreads and bent forward. I hated that he'd baited me so easily, that I wanted to know...

"I don't get offers like this much," he muttered, as I tentatively touched his neck. My fingers were cold compared to his body temperature. It was disconcerting, his neck was... huge. All thick muscle and tendon. "Not usual for me to stick my neck out..." he added ruefully. His fingers on the table spread, sliding toward the knives again. Bet he didn't even consciously know he was doing it. Something so simple and he couldn't even truly trust he was safe. But he was trusting me... in a warped way. I shook it off and dug my thumbs in on his spine. Earned myself a satisfied grunt.

"It's not always traumatic," he paused, closing his eyes and leaning back into my fingers. "Sometimes is fun... Stalking people." I didn't comment. Didn't think I was going to like this but if it was a less painful recall than the things I knew about...

"Carolyn, Fry, the pilot. Stalked her a bit when we were on the planet. More amusing game than dodging Johns. He was too easy when he was jonesin'. " None of this made sense to me. He'd survived the crash of the Hunter Gratzner with a girl and a priest. I knew that. Everything else on the report was blacked out. There was always more to events involving Riddick though. "Beasties on the planet took her out. Johns too. Got a lot of people. Carolyn was a loss though." He genuinely sounded regretful.

"Tell me." I prompted quietly.

He made a noise, might have been a scoff. He rolled his neck, cracking it, trying to direct my fingers into a knot. His thick dreadlocks fell back over my hands. I didn't move them, they were softer than they looked. I stared at them, waiting for him to continue.

"She was a survivor. Kinda like you, had secrets. " Was that a compliment in there? He was quiet for a tick. "I tracked her in the boneyard, talkin' to Wild Bill." He hummed deep in his chest as I dug my thumbs into another knotted muscle. "She almost dumped the entire passenger compartment to save her own neck in the crash. Fuckin' pilots, huh? Can't trust 'em." I said nothing, rolled my eyes, looked at the ceiling. Knew the jab was self-referential.

"She was interesting though. One of the few who sensed I was around... had to play with her a bit. Jumpin' back and forth in the shadows. Snagged a bit of her hair. Shadow walkin' - heh..." His muscles went slack under me and I blinked, looked down. He'd phased. I staggered back a step.

"Riddick!" I hissed. Closing my fairy eye to be sure. "You did it!" I turned to grab the vid recorder. Just a split second my back was turned and he wasn't in the chair. "Riddick?"

Confused, I spun in a circle. "Dammit! Don't go running off now! You can hear me right now, but I can't hear you." What was he doing? Wandered off to look in the mirror? Fuck! I had the cam right here! I fiddled with the record button, moved back to widen the shot, then stepped back again. Right into him.

One hand closed on my face, twisting it sideways as he pressed a blade to my throat. "So you're right about the drifting, Fay." His voice was that teasing croon again, soft in my ear. "But never, _never_ forget. I _am _that good. " He let go of me. Held up a curl of my hair. He sheathed the knife deliberately in front of my face and threw it on the table. Then he backed away, was gone.

I didn't move again for a long time.

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_* Psychological Restraint Station... if you want to see this stuff, which is fascinating, you can download the "Into Pitch Black" prequel if you search around at VinXperience or elsewhere on the net. _

_This, dear readers, is as far as I've gotten. It's a hard story to write. I mean, Big Evil can't have his way with the OFC... *snort* and I've sort of kept him in the mysterious, anti-hero mercenary mold. It's all from Fay's perspective. And I'm stuck. Figure if I get some more feedback (by posting it here) I might get back on track. _

_Strangely enough, I started this before "Changeling" ... this is fact is what led to _that_ story, but... yeah. R&R I guess._


	6. Chapter 6

_Sorry I haven't been updating. S.A.D. and such. And the big guy chaffing a bit at the conditions I put on him in this narrative. *wry grin* Ah well, I'll try not to make you wait so long for the next update._

* * *

Always hot or cold with him. I didn't know what to think. Was he this volatile with everyone, or was I just doing something wrong? I stayed in my room for the rest of the trip. He had me spooked. I'd sent a message to Jacks when we fueled up on the station, and she commed back the place we could meet her. The Atlantis in Last Vegas. She was in a penthouse under a Jane Doe -just have the front desk page her and she'd meet us in the bar. I forwarded the address to the pilot's com, and then tried to get some rest.

Sleep proved elusive though. And not just that creeping fear that Riddick would sneak up on me again. Jacks...I didn't know if I'd even recognize her. It had been two years. I knew she'd had plastic surgery to hide from the Company goon squads. She hadn't mentioned any trouble, so I presumed she was safe. But her and Riddick... as taciturn as he'd been, how was he going to be with effervescent, squirrelly Jacks? I'm sure she'd grown up and calmed down more in the past few years... but I still imagined her a bouncy, curious -and very mouthy- teenager.

We docked outside of town without incident. Riddick was his silent self as we grabbed free public transport to the strip. Lost Vegas was happy to shuttle you in to your destination, anticipating the credits dropped at the gaming tables and entertainment hot spots.

The Atlantis was done up in honor of some ancient Terran myth. Lost civilization underwater. All Greek columns and mermaids and ruins. I gave her alias- Starla Smith, at the check in, and was a bit surprised by the lascivious smile that crossed the young clerk's lips. Jacks was pretty, but, nothing to warrant such a reaction. I knew she'd been playing the whale, spoiled daddy's girl, blowing her inheritance partying and gambling. But the once over he gave my conservative dress, and the glance he gave my towering shadow... it was like he knew something I didn't. Then again, maybe I was just rattled being around so many cameras. The clerk said he'd page her, and we retired to the hotel bar. Heaven knew I needed a drink to settle me down.

We'd barely had time to order when she sashayed in. The sparkling evening dress was enough to stop conversation in the bar, or rather, the way she was poured into it was. I couldn't speak as she squealed and hugged me, pressing me into some very large breasts I didn't remember her having. It was Jacks alright, but... so much for keeping a low profile.

"Just have the drinks charged to my room. In fact, just send them up to the penthouse." She wiggled fingers at the stunned bartender, blowing him a kiss as she grabbed my hand and led me back the way we came. I was too shocked to do anything but follow her to the private corner elevator off the main atrium.

"Fay, darling... please stop staring at me like a mother!" She admonished as we rode the private express to the top floor. "It's not _that_ extreme. " She looked on the verge of a pout. "If I was going to have my face done, fork out all those creds, figured I'd go the whole nine yards, get what nature didn't see fit to give me."  
"But... you... look..." I was having a hard time saying it.

"Like a porn star? I know!" She giggled. "Had myself modeled on the best, by the best." She shot me a dazzling smile. "Recognize the look?"

"Asia Andromeda." Riddick's voice made me jump. He hadn't said a word since we'd arrived. Going back to his stoic shadow self. Jacks pursed her lips and smiled demurely.

"Bingo. Half the staff thinks that's who I am. What star ever uses their real name at a hotel?" She batted her eyelashes and glanced back at me.

"Now, you gonna introduce me to this tall, dark, mountain of Rastafarian muscle or you gonna make me do it myself?"

I actually choked.

"Wait for the room. Privacy." Riddick's reply was succinct. Jacks stuck out her tongue.

"Whole goddamn place is wired, vidded and bugged. They'd say it's for guest protection... but whatever." She rolled her eyes. Then she shrugged. "But...you're the boss, big guy."

I was still reeling five minutes later as we settled into the living room of the penthouse. I'd never been in a place this opulent before. Jacks had ditched the evening gown for a tank top and sweats, which she still somehow managed to make look overly sexy. Riddick was prowling the room, searching for listening devices. Jacks had already hung bras and tshirts over the mirrors and wall sconces she'd found cameras in. She uncovered one mirror to show me how she'd written "Dirty Perverts" backwards in lipstick. That, at least, was the Jacks I knew.

"Business, darling," she said after room service had delivered our drinks. She'd already opened her portable com unit, knowing Riddick would want a cred transfer promptly. She'd ordered him an expensive bottle of rum, which he ignored, in favor of raiding the room bar for the whiskey. Her eyes stayed glued to his pacing rear. A bit forward and a bit unnerving.

"So what's his prob?" she stage whispered to me as I typed in the account numbers Riddick had given me. At this point, I was surprised he trusted me with that much.

"Rid..." He cut me off with a hiss. At my back before I could react.

"Burton..." he offered, his big hand descending over the couch back. Jacks tiny manicured fingers were lost in it. She relished the contact though, turned to give him her best 'lost maiden' smile.

"Jacks. Aka... Starla Smith. Aka... Yoon .... But, you can call Asia, if you want. Especially in bed."

"Jacks!" I knew I sounded scandalized, which was the reaction she wanted. Riddick however, just stared at her stoically.

"Oh what do you care, Fay? You're married! Unless you two are..." She winked theatrically at me, giving Riddick another suggestive pout. "She did tell you that, right? That this is all for her _husband?_" She plastered her hand to her forehead and mock-swooned back on the couch, writhing a bit more than was necessary. "I'm all for getting him back, even if he is an annoying pill."

"Seems to be a common problem around you," Riddick remarked dryly, crossing his arms.

"Why Mr. Burton, did you just insult me?" Jacks sat up.

"I don't know, did I?"

"Enough!" We had business, and I was too addled to deal with them bickering right off. "We need to lay out the plan, finances and ... whatever else we do, in a situation like this." I didn't like being in charge. I never had. I was not a dominant personality. I picked up my drink and drained it, pointing at the com unit and looking up at Riddick. Jacks crossed her arms in mock-mirror of Riddick's posture and stuck out her tongue. The childish gesture, typical of Jacks, looked positively pornographic. I poured myself another drink. Getting used to her... all grown up, was fraying my nerves further.

Riddick ignored Jacks and moved to pick up the com. He frowned a bit as he sat down in the chair opposite, flipping through the transaction screens. "Gonna need about 2 mil in hard currency. Think you can lay hands on that?"

"How _hard_ you want it, big boy?" She purred, narrowing her eyes as she stretched out on the couch again. "Twenties? Hundreds? Loose creds or prepaid account cards? " She sipped her drink nonchalantly.

"Creds. 4 bags, even split." He didn't even look up. If he was surprised she could just pull out that much cash on command, he gave no indication. He checked his chrono, and set the com back on the coffee table. "I gotta meet some people in a bit, so the sooner you get the UD, the better. " He stood, surveying the suite again.

I opened my mouth, but he looked down at me and shook his head, braids swaying. " Got some contacts onworld. Called in a few debts, while we were en route. We can't just show up on Prime without authorization. Gonna take some doin' to fake our way into the system, let alone the place you guys worked."

"What exactly are you planning Mr. Burton?" Jacks was annoyed he was ignoring her innuendos. "Gonna wait till the quarterly stockholders' meeting and sneak in on the catering transport?" Riddick cocked his head at her, giving her a very evil half-smile.

"You sure she's not a mind-reader, Fay?" Jacks huffed, standing and stalking to her bedroom to change. Riddick watched her sashay away, his grin becoming slightly more lascivious. He adjusted himself unselfconsciously and growled something I'm glad I didn't hear.

"Mr. _Burton_," I hissed. "She's 19!"

"And...?"

"Nevermind."


End file.
